


Forgiving What We Cannot Forget

by thedailygrind



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, Post-lawsuit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-01-20 19:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18531334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedailygrind/pseuds/thedailygrind
Summary: Ten years after the lawsuit, Yunho goes to sleep and wakes up to a life he doesn't recognize.





	1. Chapter 1

Yunho surveys himself in the mirror one last time; his hair lies slicked back, effortless and casual, his skin is tanned just enough to look healthy, and his tuxedo, smartly cut, shows off the results of two grueling months on a merciless protein-only diet. Satisfied with what he sees, Yunho moves on, tilting his head to reaffirm his most photogenic angles - a big smile, lips pulled back to reveal a hint of teeth, but not so much that it looks faked. Check.

A decade in the entertainment industry is nothing to thumb your nose at. And SM seems determined to pull out all the stops, making a grand affair of their fifteenth anniversary post-debut. 

Personally the idea of it all is a little too flashy for Yunho’s tastes, but he’s not one to complain at the chance of catching up with his closest friends, and the people he’s grown up in the industry with. He’ll show up, shake hands and smile, enjoy the free alcohol and maybe even get home early enough to catch an episode or two of One Punch Man before bed.

His front door swings opens and Yunho turns to see Donghae strolling in, decked out in a midnight blue suit.

“Looking good stranger,” Donghae says, greeting Yunho with a playful bump to the shoulder, “ready to do this thing?”

“I was born ready,” Yunho laughs as Donghae pulls open front the door to reveal a sleek black limousine waiting outside.

Yunho climbs in, sighing appreciatively as he sinks into the plush leather seats. How long ago had they been pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in too-small minivans? Yunho chuckles at the thought.

Donghae slides in a second later, two glasses of Moet balanced precariously in one hand. 

“One for the road?” He offers.

“Cheers,” Yunho says taking a glass and clinking it against Donghae’s. He swallows, feeling the bright burn of sparkling alcohol slide down his throat and warm his stomach.

“This is crazy isn’t it,” Donghae murmurs, gesturing at the limousine and the champagne. His eyes crinkle, satori working heavily into his words, “no one would have guessed us hill billies from Gwangju would end up here.”

Yunho smiles. No, they wouldn’t have.

After almost two decades in the industry, Yunho feels like he’s finally proven their detractors wrong. He's kept his promise, and TVXQ has survived, thrived even, after losing all of its main vocalists. They’ve evolved and grown and he feels like today is the day he can finally stop looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

_We are here. We are finally here._

He should feel relief, but all he feels is a nagging sense of unease that this isn’t at all how he pictured his life turning out.

 

 

The Hilton on Hangang is lit up like a Christmas tree on steroids. The grand banquet hall is decked with heavy teardrop chandeliers and strings of artfully placed fairy lights. In the background, a full orchestra plays soothing instrumental versions of Humanoids and Catch Me, lulling its audience into quiet tinkling chatter.

Ever punctual, Changmin is already waiting when Yunho arrives, discreetly hidden in a small room by the main entrance. They exchange smiles when they catch each other’s eye, the air heavy with anticipation, and something a little more somber and sad.

From across the room, Yunho admires how handsome and self assured Changmin looks. There is an unmistakable glow of pride blooming in his chest as Yunho stands next to the man Changmin has become; the past fifteen years testament to how they've stood by, supported, and leaned on each other. When TVXQ had shattered, Yunho had broken with it, but Changmin. Changmin had been strong. Changmin had soldiered on, picking up the broken pieces and marching them relentlessly forward; step by agonizing step.

He couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

Changmin's never been one for public displays of affection, but as if he feels the significance of the day, he leans in first when they meet, enveloping Yunho in a long, meaningful hug. 

There aren’t enough words to describe how grateful Yunho is for his maknae, for his quiet, reliable presence and unwavering support. Thankfully Changmin seems to understand that the fragile moment needs no words.

“To us,” Changmin says simply, squeezing Yunho’s shoulder.

“To us.” Yunho echoes, and smiles so he doesn’t cry.

With that, Changmin pushes open the ornate doors, and leads them both into the frenzy of flashing lightbulbs and thundering applause.

 

 

The evening trickles by with eager well wishers and excitable reporters coyly asking "what comes next?". It is a well known fact that TVXQ's contract with SM Entertainment is almost up. Yunho finds that he doesn't have an answer for them, which is why eleven forty five finds him hiding out on an empty smoking landing, shielded in darkness and away from the crowds. Yunho leans against the balcony, watching the minute hand of the clock slowly tick toward twelve, tilting his face into the wintry air and breathing in deep, until the heavy weight in his chest dissipates. 

_I’m having a midlife crisis,_ he thinks, ruefully. There aren’t many people who can say they’ve led their band to blazing international recognition; who’ve set multiple Guinness book records, who've sold out Dome tours and had it all before the ripe old age of twenty five. And then abruptly, as fleetingly as they’d grasped it, had lost everything.

 _I did that_ , Yunho thinks, painfully aware of the fact that he is required to use past tense.

Now they stand, two instead of five, and where Jaejoong needed cajoling, Yoochun needed a shoulder to cry on and Junsu needed a hyung to beat at Starcraft, there’s just Changmin. Changmin who is ruthlessly independent, Changmin who is more self sufficient than Yunho is, Changmin who Yunho can no longer boss around, because he’s growing up so fast.

And then in the blink of an eye they’re in their thirties and Yunho is standing in the dark wondering how, in the span of him protecting the TVXQ legacy, his life morphed into something he doesn't recognize at all. He was supposed to be their fearless leader, but what is a leader, when there's no band to protect, no band to lead? 

Across the skyline, a projection of Hug splays across the city. Yunho doesn’t want to imagine how much the entire thing cost. But it’s one of the few videos that features the five of them from 2004, Jaejoong with his hair still dark, his eyes big and full of wonder, Changmin, wrapped in a too-large red scarf, still so young and sweet and eager to please, Junsu, gazing at them all innocently, his cheeks slightly filled out with baby fat, and Yoochun, his eyes curved into half moons, a hat tipped mischievously over an eyebrow.

Yunho’s cellphone rings and unthinkingly, he hits answer without checking the caller ID.

It's a mistake.

“Hello?”

On the other side of the line, there is a sharp intake of breath. 

Yunho frowns. “Who is this?”

There's no immediate answer and Yunho is about to hang up when he hears a familiar, heartbreaking-- 

“Oh, Yunho-ya.”

It’s been too many years, but Yunho could pick out that voice in a crowd, its husky, cigarette-roughed edge unmistakeable.

“Jaejoong,” Yunho says, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding. “Hi.”

“It’s. I.” Jaejoong starts, nervously. “I just wanted to say. Congratulations.”

 _Congratulations for what? Surviving without you three?_ Yunho thinks bitterly, the apology ten years too late and far from enough. Aloud he simply says, “thank you. It’s been—- it's been nice.” 

"Good," Jaejoong sounds shy. “I'm... that's-- I'm proud of you guys. Are you in Seoul right now?”

“Yeah. We are at the Hilton. Company celebration.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Jaejoong forces an uncomfortable laugh. “You must be busy.”

Yunho wonders why, even after all these years, the urge to soothe Jaejoong comes to him as natural as breathing.

“It’s fine,” he hears himself say, “I was taking a breather on the roof.”

“Well, company parties were never really your thing,” Jaejoong says.

Yunho stiffens. 

"I mean--" Jaejoong backpeddles, although the damage has already been done. Jaejoong's lost the right to tease him about this, hasn't deserved it for years now.

“A lot of things have changed,” Yunho says, sharply. 

“Of course,” Jaejoong says, too quickly. “Sorry—“

“It’s fine,” Yunho says, just as Jaejoong says, “I shouldn’t have—“

“I've taken up so much of your time already,” Jaejoong says, and Yunho doesn’t recognize this Jaejoong, the one who backs down instead of fighting back. “I should let you go.” 

This seems like a cue for them to hang up, but Yunho finds, somewhere deep down inside, that he doesn’t want to hang up, not unless Jaejoong does first. And after a few seconds, it is clear that Jaejoong doesn’t want to either. He can hear Jaejoong breathe, soft and elevated, on the other end of the line.

“Jaejoong-ah—“

“I just—“

They both stop.

“Sorry you should—“

“What were you—“

“I’m sorry,” Jaejoong says, the words hushed and regretful. “That’s what I called to say. I’m sorry.”

 _It’s too late_ , Yunho thinks because the words shouldn't mean anything anymore. Once upon a time he would have lost a limb to hear them, spoken in Jaejoong's husky baritone. The words a promise that all of this was reversible, that they were still TVXQ, that they could bounce back from this, together. But now, they echo tinny across a badly connected phone line, empty and meaningless.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, when the words sink in and he realizes belatedly, that there's been no magic fix. They're still two and three, broken and separate and nothing’s changed. “Thank you, I guess.”

The silence stretches, Jaejoong helpless and Yunho resolute. The sound of two people holding on to the sweet memory of a relationship long dead and gone.

“I know I was selfish—“

Jaejoong is. Was. 

It doesn't matter, because Yunho is tired of living in the past, tired of dredging up old wounds and abusing them until they fester and heal with jagged angry scars. It’s been a decade of constant pain and disappointment and Yunho desperately chasing after the shadow of their former glory. And everything never, _ever_ measuring up. It's been fifteen years and Yunho is finally ready to move on.

“Don't apologize,” Yunho says, firmly. “It’s fine, Jaejoong, everything is fine.”

The frustrated silence that follows says that Jaejoong doesn’t want it to be fine. He wants Yunho to be angry, to scream, to yell at him. Anything other than this blank indifference. Because if Yunho is indifferent, then it means that Jaejoong’s tiny glimmer of hope that there is still something to salvage at all, is gone.

“I miss you both.” Jaejoong says finally, his voice cracking. 

_Tough_ , Yunho thinks, even though his chest twinges painfully at the words. Because he's never been able to stay angry at Jaejoong, because despite the decade of cold silence and betrayal, he desperately misses him, like a constant ache in his bones. 

Unconsciously, Yunho’s fingers tighten around the the base of his champagne glass. When they had been seventeen, dreaming of riches and success, Yunho had never thought that the endless painful practices, the constant hunger and cup ramyeon, would lead them to this. When he dreamed about their success as a cold, starving trainee, Jaejoong had always been the constant. Whether as Four Season's Autumn or TVXQ's Hero, Yunho had always pictured Jaejoong by his side, his eyes curved in amused laughter, his fingers curled around Yunho's chin, the white feathers from his performance outfit tickling Yunho's nose as he whispered, "we are here, Yunho-ya, we've finally made it".

“Yunho,” Jaejoong says softly, pleading. “Do you think—” 

His breath hitches.

“Do you think we could ever go back to the way we were?”

The words sting, a Pandora’s box that Yunho can’t afford to open again. Of the many painful things he's learned to endure in the decade of Jaejoong's absence, the most devastating of these is _hope_. And he’s already spent too many hours, days, years, _hoping_ , aching with it. Drowning and fervently praying that this was just a phase, that TVXQ was stronger than it all, that they could overcome it because they’re Dongbangshinki. But they couldn’t. And Yunho's had ten years of waking up, feeling the desperate weight on his chest grow so heavy he can't breathe as the realization sinks in, with the disappointment of every passing day, that this is permanent.

So it’s a simple question with a simple answer. _No._

But nothing about Jaejoong is ever simple.

“I— I have to go.” Yunho says. 

The minute hand ticks _sixteen, fifteen, fourteen…_

“Yunho,” Jaejoong exhales, like a plea.

_Twelve, eleven, ten._

“Hyung, there you are! Come inside, the ball’s about to drop.”

_Six, five, four, three, two_

_You made your choice_ , Yunho thinks, ruefully, _we can’t go back._

Aloud, he says, “have a good life Jaejoong-ah.” 

“I still love you,” Jaejoong says, quietly, so quietly Yunho's not sure he meant to say it aloud.

_one._

Time stops. And then the banquet hall explodes in a riot of fireworks, music and color.

Yunho's world goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

Buttery sunlight spills through the windows, teasing Yunho into reluctant wakefulness and helpfully alerting him to the relentless pounding in his head.

He winces, sternly reminding himself that at thirty three, alcohol fueled free-for-alls have consequences. Changmin had begged off early, as usual, and Yunho thinks, that it’s high time he start taking cues from his exemplary dongsaeng.

Despite the crippling hangover, the memory of Donghae’s infectious excitement as he egged them on shot after giddy shot, makes Yunho smile and he can’t find it in himself to be anything other than fond.

Fond, and also ridiculously hungover.

Still face planted in a pillow, he reaches for his cellphone, wondering at the time.

 _“Odd,”_ Yunho thinks, when his clumsy fingers hit a smooth, cold surface instead of the roughened edges of his wooden bedside table. 

_”Odd,”_ Yunho thinks again, mystified, as he shifts so he can get a proper grip on his phone and finds his left thigh dangling off his queen sized bed that now feels remarkably like a twin.

 _”Odd,”_ Yunho thinks, with mild panic as he opens his eyes and sees that the pillowcase he’s buried in is white and silky and nothing like his cheap, starched navy sheets from Ikea.

He freezes, vaulted into complete sobriety by the gripping, terrifying realization that

Something. Isn’t. Right. 

Memories from the past twenty four hours trickle back and he frowns, trying to piece them together. He remembers the fancy black limousine, the press conference and well wishers, the nonsensical drinking games that had occupied him for most of the evening. There’d also been that strange phone call from Jaejoong but after that, the rest of the night is a blank.

He bolts upright, his heart pounding as he takes in his surroundings. 

This definitely isn’t his bedroom; the interior is stark and too modern, the furniture monochrome and the walls ten shades too white. If he wasn’t so distracted, Yunho might have noticed a distinct air of familiarity about the place. But his mind is on other things, namely a good contingency plan.

Running a hand haphazardly through his hair, he runs through a list of standard damage control protocol; figure out where he is, call his manager, hopefully get the other party to sign an NDA without any fuss, quashing any and all of whatever _this_ is before it hits the media. 

He may have fucked up, but TVXQ doesn’t need another hit, not right now.

In the midst of his full blown panic attack, there’s a discreet cough by the doorway and Yunho braces himself for whatever’s coming, hoping against hope that his hapkido reflexes are still on point.

But as he looks up, adrenaline raised and blood pumping, it’s not a delusional fan, or a threatening reporter that greets him. 

It’s… Jaejoong, leaning against the doorway carefully, like he’s trying not to intrude. 

Clad in a soft woolen sweater that exposes the shadow of his collarbones, his hair dark and long and slightly damp, his cheeks soft and rosy from the cold, seeing Jaejoong in the flesh still takes Yunho’s breath away.

“Hey,” Jaejoong says, and Yunho marvels at sound of his voice, achingly familiar, even after all these years. “How are you feeling?”

Yunho tries not to stare, because Jaejoong is standing before him, after a decade of resentful silences, after the way Yunho had abruptly ended their conversation last night. 

There’s no reason in the world why Yunho should get to see him like this, vulnerable, freshly showered and still smelling like lavender. There’s no logical reason to explain any of this, but if Jaejoong’s acquiescing, Yunho’s not going to be the first to shatter this fragile illusion of amicability.

So he swallows the confusion, the protests and questions, and says. 

“Like death.”

“And you look like it,” Jaejoong shoots back, smiling, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Don’t you remember?” Jaejoong asks, crossing his arms across his chest. He sounds deceptively neutral, polite even, but even half awake and fully hungover, Yunho is an expert at his tells. “You had quite the night out.”

“Okay?” Yunho prompts and Jaejoong gives him a long, searching look.

“Hojun hyung called,” Jaejoong says, finally, and if Yunho hadn’t lived with Jaejoong for so long, privy to his every mood, he might not have noticed the way the corners of his mouth tighten. “You drank too much at the party yesterday and needed a ride home.”

Yunho pans the room, taking in the unfamiliar wallpaper, the vase of lilies carefully sitting on the bedside table, the black and white portrait of a laughing toddler, framed next to the dresser.

“This isn’t my home,” Yunho says, slowly, “where am I?”

It’s a reasonable question, Yunho thinks, but the hurt that flashes across Jaejoong’s face is so violent, so all encompassing and heartbreaking that Yunho immediately wishes he could take the words back.

Jaejoong’s jaw works. Yunho catches himself staring at the smooth curve of Jaejoong’s throat as he swallows, at the way his mouth shapes and abandons words, struggling for the right answer.

“It’s the guest room.” Jaejoong’s voice breaks, and Yunho’s heart twinges with it. Jaejoong looks away, brushing away defiant tears Yunho’s not meant to see. “It’s _my_ guest room, all right? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The accusation rattles him, an age-old indignation welling up inside his chest at once again finding himself the object of Jaejoong’s misplaced anger. 

They don’t run in the same circles anymore. That’s common knowledge. So it’s inconceivable that even after a night of heavy drinking, Yunho would have ended up in Jaejoong’s house, even more inconceivable why Jaejoong is acting like this is _normal_.

”But why am I here?” Yunho asks, bewildered.

“Yunho,” Jaejoong begins, then sighs, exasperated.

It’s clear that he’s upset. At what, Yunho’s not sure he’ll ever know, but he watches as Jaejoong wills the fight out of himself, fierce anger dissipating into muted irritation, then resigned acceptance.“Forget it. You’re clearly still drunk.” 

He pushes himself off the door so he can press two painkillers into Yunho’s palm, careful not to let their fingers touch. “Sleep it off. We can talk about this. later.”

As Jaejoong wordlessly turns to walk away, a wave of irritation hits Yunho, abrupt in its intensity. Yunho’s had years to get over it, but as if it never really healed at all, Yunho feels the feathery scar tissue rip apart, exposing the wound on his heart, fresh and bleeding again like it’s 2009, with Jaejoong’s moody silences and Yunho, powerless to stop it.

“Why am I here, Jaejoong-ah?” Yunho insists, because the last time he let things slide, he’d lost Jaejoong, he’d lost his career, he’d lost TVXQ. “Why are you?”

 _Say it_ , Yunho thinks, viciously, watching Jaejoong’s hands clench in the fabric of his jeans, tensed to fight, to run. _For God's sake, tell me what you really mean, for once._

“Yunho,” Jaejoong says, evenly, “I don't think this is a conversation we should be having.”

 _Cryptic to the last,_ Yunho thinks, hating the paralyzing helplessness that washes over him now. Yunho’s tired of how Jaejoong never says what he really means, how their interactions are still a game of chess Yunho’s never been able to win. 

“Jae," Yunho begins, gently and Jaejoong turns to look at him. "There's...there's never been a good time for us.”

“You made sure of that." Jaejoong says, bitterly, "you moved on, Yunho-sshi, you made it very clear that we don’t deserve to be a part of your life anymore. It's just funny that the second you go out and get drunk with your 85 club friends I have to go pick up the pieces." 

It’s an old argument between them, and on cue, Yunho’s conscience prickles, but he shoves the guilty feeling out of his mind. “You don’t get a say in what I do anymore, Jaejoong-ah. They never left. They never fucking gave up and stabbed me in the back. I fucking loved you and you are a selfish—"

“Selfish,” Jaejoong bellows, “selfish? I sacrificed my life for you, everything I loved about my work. Because God forbid someone find out that we were together—”

“Your sacrifice?” Yunho starts, incredulous.

“All of that because you were too afraid of anything that would draw attention to the fact that you’re fucking a man.”

“It’s about both our careers,” Yunho roars. “Do you really think Seoul was ready for you or me to come out?”

“I don’t think they’d give a fucking damn to be honest!”

“Then you’re delusional,” Yunho sneers, “you could lose your career, you could lose your fanbase, everything.”

“Don’t you think that I know that?” Jaejoong asks, pained. He closes his eyes, a shudder running through his body, “but its better than living a fucking lie.”

 _Is it?_ Yunho wonders, as TVXQ lies in shattered pieces. As Yoochun is fucking locked up in a detention center and everything good about them is a muddied memory, dredged in infamy and scandal.

“I don’t know why we’re even talking about this,” Jaejoong says, angrily and he begins to turn away.

"Sleep it off, when you're less drunk you can take your fucking things and go."

At such close proximity, Yunho can feel the heat radiating off Jaejoong’s skin, can hear the whisper of his soft uneven breathing. They’re so close, he has to clench his fists so he doesn’t give in to the overwhelming urge to stand, to do away with these polite formalities and take Jaejoong into his arms. To press his nose into his neck and see if he still smells like cedar and smoke under all that lavender.

“Appa?” A plaintive young voice calls from the door.

There’s a toddler shyly hiding around the doorframe, peeking into the room. 

Jaejoong’s demeanor softens almost immediately and he reaches for the crawling toddler, stopping him before he gets to the foot of Yunho’s bed. 

"Hi baby," he mumurs quietly, blowing a wet raspberry against the tiny wriggling bundle. "Did you get out of your crib all by yourself?"

The toddler giggles and Jaejoong kisses his forehead, tucking him against his chest as he makes to leave for the room.

The child lies obediently against him for a moment, but as Jaejoong begins to walk away he twists around, reaching a plaintive arm for Yunho.

“Enough,” Jaejoong says gently but firmly. 

"Appa!" The child protests, looking at Yunho, with his large doe-brown eyes. 

“No,” Jaejoong's eyes catch Yunho's for a moment and and he’s surprised at the sadness in them, “no, Yunho’s sick right now. We have to be quiet.”

“Appa,” the toddler insists, squirming from Jaejoong’s arms and reaching his chubby baby fists for Yunho.

“No,” Jaejoong says again, and the next words break Yunho's heart. “He’s not your appa anymore, Seungjoonie. It’s just us now.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jaejoong leaves the house, the door closing with a quiet _shick_ that feels as loud as a slam _._ Yunho hears a car start in the garage, before he reaches for the phone sitting on the desk, which is presumably, his. It doesn’t look anything like the sleek Samsung V3 he has but he’s out of options. Gingerly he tries his current password. _Two tries remaining_ , the screen flashes, warningly.

He hesitates, then types in Jaejoong’s birthday. _Incorrect password! One try remaining, erase data?_ Yunho panics, types in DBSK’s debut date and holds his breath. To his relief, the phone unlocks, and on his phone screen is a photo of Seungjoon, giggling in a Chuseok outfit. The picture is clearly cropped and Yunho doesn’t have to guess to figure out the faceless hanbok-clad lap on his phone is Jaejoong’s.

He scrolls through his phone, a thrill of relief running down his spine when he sees the name Shim Changmin on his contact list. _I need help_ , he texts, desperately clutching to his phone until Changmin responds. 

Changmin doesn’t disappoint and two seconds later, a warning _if this is about Jaejoong hyung_ pops up on his screen.

Yunho worries his bottom lip.

_Yes, and no,_ he types, _can you meet me somewhere I think I’m going crazy._

_I’m at work hyung._

_Please Changmin-ah, I woke up in Jaejoong’s house today and I’m pretty sure this isn’t my life._

Changmin is unsympathetic.

_That’s generally how breakups works._

The typing bubbles appear and disappear, Yunho bites his lip for a full three minutes, and then finally Changmin calls him.

“That company event really did a number on you,” Changmin says by way of greeting. “Are you hungover?”

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho pleads, “this is crazy. We were just at the TVXQ anniversary last night. It was our 15th anniversary.”

Changmin snorts.

“First, our? Hyung, you know I don’t swing that way. I think the fact that you’re in Jaejoong’s house right now is clear evidence of that. Second, Sara and I were in watching Netflix all of last night.”

Yunho blinks, his headache starting to come back in full force.

“That’s… not what I remember. We were at the Hilton on Hangang. Super Junior was there and there were fireworks and alcohol,” Yunho bites his lip, “Changmin please, you’ve got to believe me.”

Changmin is silent for a long, awkward beat.

“I just want to clarify that I think this is stupid,” Changmin says, “but I’m only coming because you sound so desperate. You owe me big time for this.”

“Hurry Changmin.”

“I’m on my way.”

 

 

 

Belatedly, Yunho showers and digs through the closet to find clothes that fit him, piled neatly in a box. His things, Yunho thinks, carefully separated out from Jaejoong's. He sifts through its contents until he finds a worn pair of jeans, a serviceable t-shirt and a pair of aviators.

He shakes off the heavy feeling in his chest as he dresses, the events of the day that reminds him a little too much of the last six months of 2009, reeking of finality, sorting out the things that were his, the things that were theirs, but he swallows past the lump in his throat and stands, dusting his hands off.

The cab ride to a small cafe in Gangnam-dong feels especially long.

 

 

 

Changmin is already at a table when he arrives, long legs crossed, his hair long and pulled black into a ponytail, a pair of black plastic-rimmed glasses completing the look. 

“Changmin,” Yunho hisses, his heart falling to his stomach, “You can’t be out in public like this.”

“Oh grow up hyung,” Changmin says good-naturedly, “how long are you gonna tease me about this. It makes me look older and it’s better for the clientele.”

He frowns, “are you sure you’re okay? You look like a crazy stalker.”

Changmin makes to tug off his face mask, frowning.

“Don’t!” Yunho says, and looks around desperately to make sure no fangirls catch a whiff of them. “People will see.”

Changmin gives him look that clearly says he thinks Yunho is crazy.

“Hyung,” Changmin says, “you’re acting really weird. Or at least, weirder than usual is everything ok?”

And suddenly the entirety of the day - waking up in a strange new world, Jaejoong’s confrontation earlier that morning, comes to a head.

“No,” Yunho says, deflating, “I’m not.”

Changmin turns around, expertly ordering two cappuccinos and breakfast sandwiches before maneuvering them to a quiet corner of the cafe. Yunho glances around, and finally pulls off his disguise, relieved.

“Okay,” Changmin says, authoritatively, “now tell me everything.”

 

 

 

Two hours later, sandwiches devoured, Changmin sits back and looks at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Wait," he says crinkling his nose, “so ignoring the fact that everything you’re saying is impossible, and defies every law of physics ever, hypothetically in your world I’m in a singing dancing boyband?”

“Changmin,” Yunho says, long sufferingly, “that’s not the main point."

Changmin crosses his arms over his chest, “damn, you have one hell of an imagination.”

“Changmin—”

“Ok, so let me get this straight. In your world, we were the most famous band in Asia—“

“The world,” Yunho corrects, on autopilot. “We were in the Guinness Book of Records.” 

Changmin looks like he wants to say something, then shakes his head and thinks better of it. 

“Okay, the _world_ ,” Changmin says, like he can’t believe the shit coming out of his mouth, “then Jaejoong hyung, someone else called Junsu and Yoochun, split, and then we had a party and Jaejoong called you and you woke up in his house with no memory and no idea whats going on.”

Yunho blinks. “Yeah, basically.”

“I think you should see a doctor. I read somewhere that slow growing tumors can make you delusional.”

“No,” Yunho says firmly, “look, I know t’s crazy but what I'm saying is true. I need you to help me figure out how I can get back to my world or at least fill me in on what the fuck is going on in this one.”

He thinks about the way Jaejoong looked at him this morning; despite the different context, all those emotions, all those fights, felt too familiar, too much like the ones they used to have.

There had to be a link somewhere.

Changmin looks at his pleading face, makes a decision and cancels the rest of his meetings for the day.

 

 

 

“All right,” he says, “basics first. Your name is Jung Yunho and you’re twenty three. You’re an attorney at Lee, Yang and Park. It’s one of the most prestigious law firms in Seoul.”

“You met Jaejoong hyung in your teens and you’ve been together for years but at work you act like you’re just friends. Your colleagues assume Seungjoon is Jaejoong’s kid and you guys are college room mates. The only reason I know Seungjoon is yours is, well, I heard a really ugly flight I wasn’t supposed to, and it took you a long time to forgive me for it.”

He pauses, looks at Yunho, “I mean, the fact that you called me today, is part of why I believe you at all.”

The knowledge feels like a lump of lead in his stomach. Law school, Yunho thinks had been so close at hand, before he’d been accepted into SM Entertainment. It’s funny then, he thinks, how the Jung Yunho in this life made all the opposite choices, and yet, he still ends up here, in the same arguments, losing Jaejoong, losing, it seems, everyone else too.

Changmin continues, “last year, you took on that famous restauranteur case, Hong Suk Cheon and had him convicted for gross indecency, because he was gay.” Changmin's lips twist, his expression complicated, “Jaejoong never forgave you for that and last I heard you’d moved out.”

 

 

 

_It's a memory - not his own - that hits him, punting him into a scenario he doesn't remember living through._

_He recognizes Jaejoong’s — their— shared house from earlier in the day, Jaejoong is sitting on the bed, shoulders hunched and defeated. Yunho is kneeling on the ground in front of him, his hands clasped in Jaejoong’s, their intertwined fingers laying on Jaejoong's lap._

_“It’s for us,” Yunho says, letting go so he can tuck a lock of hair behind Jaejoong's ear._

_Here, Jaejoong looks so young, and so tired at the same time._

_“It’s not," Jaejoong says turning his head so Yunho’s fingers skim his cheek, a quiet rebuff. “I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this. We need you, we don’t need the money.”_

_“We do,” Yunho insists, “with Seungjoon at this age—“_

_Jaejoong presses his lips together._

_“We don’t,” he says resolutely, “but you want to be partner, so your father will be proud of you.”_

_Something ugly twists in Dream Yunho’s expression, but Yunho watches in fascination as he wills it away, watches himself stand, drawing to his full height, revealing a jet black tuxedo, stunningly crisp and elegant. It's more expensive than anything Yunho's ever worn._

_“How long more are you going to have to keep this up?” Jaejoong asks, voice brittle and pleading as Yunho moves to the mirror and fixes a pocket square onto his suit. “Why does it have to be Ara?”_

_“She’s doing us a favor,” Yunho says in the same placating voice as before. “I need more visibility with the partners, and this is a good event to mingle and talk about my cases.”_

_“You don’t have to bring a date,” Jaejoong says, bitterly, “Ara likes you and you’re encouraging it."_

_“It doesn’t matter what she thinks,” Dream Yunho says and kisses his forehead. Yunho’s heart clenches as he sees Jaejoong inadvertently lean into the touch, fingers lingering on Yunho’s wrist, as though he doesn’t want to let go. “I have you. I have Seungjoonie. It’s just for a little while, just until I get partner.”_

_He leaves, and as the bedroom door shuts, Yunho watches Jaejoong slide to the ground, hugging his knees to his chest, small and vulnerable and alone in their large bedroom._

_Now it’s just the two of them, Yunho goes to him, kneels before him, his fingers tracing the tracks of tears down his cheek, the aching loneliness in his expression._

_“I wish for once you’d stay,” Jaejoong whispers to the empty room and Yunho feels his heart shatter into a million pieces._

 

 

_The scene changes, fading into something more familiar. A real memory, from his real life._

_Yunho sits up, recognizing the familiar apartment in Incheon, the one they shared during their Mirotic promotions._

_“It’s just until we release the fifth album,” Yunho says smoothing out the collar of his shirt, “then we can stop this. Mirotic’s been doing so well and we are so close.”_

_Jaejoong is curled up on the couch, his cheek pressed to the window glass, watching the raindrops pour outside._

_“Okay,” he says noncommittally._

_Yunho throws him a worried look, but Jaejoong doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at him. Yunho’s brows knit, but he sighs, stepping over to the window to press a quick kiss to his cheek._

_“I’ll be back soon,” Yunho promises, disappointed when Jaejoong remains silent._

_Jaejoong doesn’t move, just sits, watching the rain, a Dispatch clipping of Ara and Yunho, laughing and leaning against each other clutched in his fingers._

 

 

 

“Hyung? Yunho-hyung? Hello?” Changmin waves a hand in front of him and Yunho jolts out of the reverie.

Yunho's mouth is dry.

"Sorry," he rasps, "sorry I had something on my mind."


End file.
